


You're So Very Special

by xsilverdreamsx



Series: My Sweet Midori [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bartender AU, Jazz Club AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima's insistence that jazz reigns over every other genre leads Takao to introduce him to the world of Radiohead, Foo Fighters, and mosh pits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're So Very Special

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry for the long gap between updates, welp, seems that I’ve been hitting a writing block lately.  
> This part is a little longer than the previous ones, because it got a little self-indulgent and rambly. 
> 
> The title is from Karen Souza's cover of Radiohead's “Creep”, hence the slight change in lyric.

Working in the jazz club these past few months has introduced Takao to a couple of pretty interesting folks, but none more so that Midorima. In the time that Takao has come to know him, he has discovered that Midorima isn’t just abrupt to Aomine or Takao; he responds the same way to everyone else.

At first, Takao writes him off as a little snobbish, and perhaps a little condescending, based on the way he stares at people coldly whenever they request for a specific song from him, and the way he goes as far as to even demand that a glass of water be prepared for him at every break - not too cold, not too hot - with a thin slice of lime in it.

And then, there’s his _obsession_ with Oha Asa and her daily horoscope predictions. Takao discovers this side of Midorima the first day he turns up to work, cradling a large, stuffed penguin in his arms, which he had then calmly placed on the piano seat. Takao had blinked, Aomine had rolled his eyes, and Midorima had sat down with an air of dignity that belied the fact that he was sharing his seat with giant toy.

(That day, Takao had learnt more than he ever wanted to about horoscopes and zodiac signs and the use of lucky items to ward off bad luck.)

And yet, despite all his idiosyncrasies, Takao can’t help but find himself drawn to this strange, brooding man. He casually checks the wall clock every Tuesday and Thursday just before Midorima arrives for a brief soundcheck - which is at _precisely_ four p.m., never a minute later nor a minute earlier - and calls out a greeting the second he catches the familiar figure stepping through the door.

He watches as Midorima carefully sets his music sheets on the piano, before he unwinds the bandages from his fingers, flexing them several times before placing them, pale and unblemished, on the keys.

Sometimes Takao wonders what it would feel like to touch those fingers, to feel the skin, to discover if it’s as smooth and soft as he imagines it to be. And it’s times like these when Takao finds himself swept up in the music, caught by the way Midorima’s fingers dance lightly across the piano keys, a series of intricate steps between musician and instrument.

“You’re drooling all over the glasses,” Aomine’s unimpressed voice interrupts his reverie one day. “Close your mouth before the customers complain.”

Takao looks up at Aomine, startled. “What?” He wipes at his face, relieved when his hand comes away dry and not covered in his drool.

Aomine flings a wet cloth at him, which he snatches out of the air before it slaps him in the face. “I’ve been asking you to clear away the glasses for the past five minutes,” he says. “You’re lucky Akashi’s not here today." He then smirks. “Actually, you’re not, because there’s me, and the only one who gets to relax around here is me.”

Making a face, Takao gets to work. As he begins to wipe down the countertop, he can hear Midorima playing the final notes of his song, before announcing that he’ll be back after his break.

Takao nearly trips over his feet in his haste to grab a clean glass. By the time Midorima slides into his seat, a full glass of water awaits him, prepared the way he likes it. Takao has long since given up trying to get Midorima to try anything else; except for that one time when he had tasted Takao’s cocktail drink, he still refused any further offers.

Takao ignores raised eyebrow that Aomine is giving him as he cheerfully greets Midorima. “Shin-chan,” he begins.

Aomine’s eyebrow rises higher.

Midorima scowls. “I thought I told you not to call me that,” he replies, lifting the glass up to his lips.

“I don’t know,” Aomine drawls, smirking. “Sounds like a good name for you, _Shin-chan_.”

“Ah- so what’s your lucky item for today?” Takao asks hurriedly, trying to distract Midorima before he can say something scathing to Aomine.

The tactic works, and, his attention drawn to his favorite subject at hand, Midorima turns his attention back to Takao. “According to Oha Asa, Cancers will face a trial in dealing with old enemies today,” he says seriously, pausing to glance at Aomine with an annoyed look, before continuing. “However, in order to counter that, I have brought this.” He holds up a small paper bag and pulls out a music CD. Takao catches a glimpse of a picture of a field filled with sunflowers and the familiar name printed across it right.

“Your lucky item was a Stone Temple Pilots album?” Somehow, Takao couldn’t quite picture Midorima sitting in his room, listening to anything grunge or rock.

“Oha Asa’s advice was to acquire a field of sunflowers,” Midorima replies primly. He adjusts his glasses. “This was the only thing that I could find.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan-”

“I am _not_ a fan. I acquired the album from my classmate this morning.” Midorima, according to Aomine, is a medical student. How he finds the time to study _and_ work is beyond Takao, who barely even manages to keep up with his own classes, not with the hours that he’s pulling at the club. “I don’t listen to such rubbish.”

Takao gapes at him. “You did _not_.”

Aomine snorts. “Smooth, Midorima.”

“What?” Midorima asks, looking confused, but Aomine just smirks and pats Takao on the back, mumbling something about a smoke break before he walks towards the backroom.

“What did he mean?” Midorima demands, this time addressing Takao. “I was just stating my opinion about this sort of music.” He waves the CD around, as if to emphasize his meaning. “It’s loud and tasteless, and gives me a headache.”

Takao wants to hit his head on the table. “It’s _Stone Temple Pilots_ , oh my god -- _how can you not like Stone Temple Pilots_.”

“I prefer something that sounds like _music_ ,” Midorima replies defensively.

“Did you even _listen_ to the album?” Takao asks in despair.

Midorima shakes his head.

“.... any other bands? Radiohead? Smashing Pumpkins? _The Who_?” Surely Midorima had heard of one of them. No matter how big his crush on Midorima is, he has to defend his pride, and that meant defending his favorite bands from being unfairly insulted by-

“Who?” Midorima looks utterly confused.

Takao’s left eye twitches. His head hurts a little.

His phone vibrates, and he pulls it out of his pocket, slightly relieved for the distraction.

 _Bring him to one of your gigs, you moron_ , the text from Aomine stares back at him.

Takao sneaks a glance at Midorima, who’s peering at the back of the CD case and reading it, his nose scrunched up in distaste.

“Say, Shin-chan,” he begins, an idea forming in his head. “Got any plans tomorrow night?”

*

Unfortunately, Midorima sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd that’s mostly made up of university and college students, dressed in band T-shirts and ripped jeans hanging dangerously below the waist. Takao watches in amusement as Midorima eyes the group of skinheads and tattooed punks who brush past them to get closer to the stage.

“Why are we here, Takao?” Midorima asks him.

Being in this environment and forced to stand closer to Midorima as the crowd starts to grow makes him feel a little reckless. “This is where your music education begins, Shin-chan!” Takao tells him cheerfully.

Midorima gives him a dirty look. “Do you have to call me that?” he starts, but just then, the lights dim and the first bass note reverberates from the speakers, setting off a loud cheer from the gathered audience as the band begins to perform.

The band is good - they’ve been around for several years now, having originally started out as a two-man punk band in high school that gained a small fanbase and following amongst the indie punk crowds - but they’re no amateur group. As they perform several covers from Radiohead, Foo Fighters and Stone Temple Pilots, Takao busies himself with explaining the songs and their origins - which, in this atmosphere, is more or less consisting of shouting the information over the noise to Midorima, who keeps giving him a pained expression every time.

Somehow, they manage to survive the gig, and after the fifth time Midorima gets shoved by a group of punks creating an impromptu mosh pit, Takao wisely tugs him to a safer distance by the DJ booth, where the crowd is less, and Midorima looks less like he’s biting on something sour. He even loosens up a little by the time the band plays their final song, shedding some of his stiff and cold demeanour to nod his head in time to the beat, and Takao can’t help but feel slightly accomplished when he notices the moderately impressed look from Midorima when the lead guitarist shreds his way through the song, the final note reverberating through the speakers.

“What do you think?” Takao asks later, as they make their way towards the station to catch the last train home. His ears are still ringing from the gig, his T-shirt underneath his coat is soaked through with sweat, but he’s feeling great. Of course, being able to spend that time with Midorima - even if it isn’t an _actual_ date - makes this night even more memorable.

“It was... loud.” Midorima looks a little more relaxed, now that they’re no longer in the crowded warehouse. “And nothing like jazz,” he adds firmly.

Takao makes a _tsk_ sound. “Ah, come on, Shin-chan-” he begins, but Midorima continues speaking.

“It’s nothing like jazz,” he repeats, adjusting his glasses, “but it’s not as terrible as I thought.” His eye catches Takao looking at him, grinning, and he _hrmpphs_. “Don’t get too excited. I still prefer my kind of music,” he adds, but it sounds less condescending and superior than before.

Grinning, Takao nudges Midorima lightly in the arm with his shoulder.

As they make their way to the station, they chat easily, bringing up their favorite moments from the show, and launching into a lengthy discussion over different music tastes before the conversation turns to basketball (which Takao discovers, to his surprise, that Midorima is rather good at). When they finally arrive, Takao glances at the clock and realizes that his train is about to arrive any minute now.

“Takao,” Midorima says suddenly, just before Takao heads towards the bridge that would bring him to the other side of the tracks, where he’s supposed to board his train.

Takao pauses mid-step, waiting curiously.

“Thank you. For inviting me out tonight.” Midorima looks slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t expect to enjoy myself, but I did.” He avoids looking at Takao, but Takao can see that his cheeks are flushed slightly.

“Anytime, Shin-chan,” Takao answers cheerfully.

Midorima doesn’t even lecture him for using the nickname, and Takao counts it as a small victory.

*

The next day, Takao heads straight to the club after his classes end. There’s still another hour left before his shift begins, but he’s decided to use the extra time to catch up on some sorely neglected sleep. Trying to balance his classes, college assignments and work is a lot harder than it looks, and Takao briefly wonders how Midorima manages to pull it off.

To his surprise, he finds Midorima standing outside the club.

“Urm, aren’t you sort of early today, Midorima?”

“Aomine said you would be here at this hour.” Takao raises an eyebrow. “I have a new song to practice.”

Takao glances at the entrance to the club, and then at Midorima, who is looking at him expectantly. “Uh, okay,” Takao says, digging into his pockets for the keys. Thankfully it’s Aomine’s day off, so he’s been given the keys to open up the place.

Once they’re inside, Takao switches on the electricity and closes the door behind them, before turning to head towards to back room to store his bag and change into his uniform.

“Takao,” Midorima says suddenly, placing one hand on his shoulder. Takao stops, turning back to look at him in surprise. “I thought you might be interested to hear the new song.”

Trying not to think about how warm Midorima’s hand on his shoulder is, and how close he is, Takao nods. “Uh, okay.” Midorima looks visibly relieved, and he releases Takao’s shoulder, much to Takao’s regret, before stepping around to head towards the piano. Takao follows him, curious.

There’s a rustling sound as Midorima, once seated at the piano, begins arranging his music sheets neatly. As always, he goes through his routine to remove the tapings on his fingers, but his hands are trembling slightly, and Takao wonders inwardly why he’s more worked up than usual.

Finally, he places his hands on the piano, and takes a deep breath. His fingers danced lightly across the keys, and Takao can’t help but tap his feet in time with the first few tinkling notes of the tune.

And then Midorima begins to sing.

It takes Takao several seconds to place the song; the familiar words are, at first, almost out of place with the jazzy tempo, but yet as Takao listens, it begins to mold itself around the song to fit, creating a different mood and meaning.

Takao turns to look at Midorima, his eyes wide. “This is a Radiohead song,” he says wonderingly. “This is incredible. I’ve never heard it played this way before, Shin-chan!”

Midorima doesn’t reply, but the edge of his lips curve upwards slightly, as if he’s pleased at Takao’s reaction, while he continues to play the rest of the song.

Takao has heard several versions of “Creep”: the band’s first release; their live versions, and a couple of covers by various bands and singers. But the way Midorima is singing now, low and almost a drawl, the notes of the lilting jazz tune echoing slightly in the quiet atmosphere of the empty club; it somehow feels more... sultry, a term he’d never thought to attach to this song, considering its meaning.

Oddly enough, Midorima seems somewhat is less... poised, than he normally is. During all the times that he’s performed here, he’s always looked so sure of himself, confidently singing every song, playing every tune effortlessly. Now, however, he looks flushed, his cheeks turning pink whenever Takao catches him sneaking a glance at Takao.

It hasn’t occurred to him before, but all this time he’s been looking at Midorima from across the bar, listening to him perform, as part of the audience. Whether he’s been performing for the jazz crowd at night, or practicing in the afternoons while the opening crew starts their shift; Takao has never been truly _alone_ with Midorima while he performs.

Until now. Which makes this all the more _intimate_.

Suddenly, Midorima hits a wrong note, and he stumbles over the lyrics. He manages to regain his composure, picking up from where he had messed up, but the earlier mood is now lost and Takao can’t help feeling a twinge of regret.

As the last notes fade away, Midorima clears his throat. “I meant to buy a wooden carving of an cat today,” he starts to say, and Takao blinks in confusion - _Carving? Cat? What?_ \- “but I could only find a plastic one.” He pulls out a small keychain from his coat pocket, and Takao stares at the trinket. “I’m sure that if I had the correct lucky item, the song would have been flawless,” he finishes.

Takao continues staring at the plastic keychain of the cat, and then looks up at Midorima’s serious face.

And he bursts out laughing.

The more Midorima frowns, the harder he laughs, at his expression, at his seriousness over his lucky items, at himself.

If Takao hadn’t been sure of his feelings before, he’s pretty sure of them now. He’s unbelievably, and, stupidly in love with Midorima. Quirks and sour demeanour, lucky items and all.

Midorima huffs, clearly offended. He doesn’t look at Takao when he speaks, but his manner is stiff, the hurt evident in his voice as he speaks. ““Well, I can see you didn’t think much of it. Thank you for listening.”

He starts to get up, but Takao moves quickly. “Wha-- wait!” Takao grabs his arm. “I wasn’t laughing _at_ you!”

“Then what were you laughing at?”

Takao bites his lower lip nervously. He doesn’t even know _how_ to explain that, well, his outburst had been caused by him realizing his affections for Midorima. It felt too soon to be confessing his feelings. And, what if he did, and Midorima rejected him? Or, worse yet, was disgusted at him?

Midorima sighs, the look of annoyance replaced by something resembling defeat. “Why can’t you ever be serious with me?” He looks up at Takao. “I thought-” Midorima’s cheeks are flushed now, as he struggles with his words, “I assumed. That you liked me.”

Blinking in confusion, Takao stares back. “You thought that... I liked you.” He doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. Is Midorima mocking him? “How- What. I mean, so what if I did? Why would that matter to you?”

Midorima doesn’t answer, but his face begins to turn red, and he lets out a huff of annoyance. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?” he asks, exasperated, and before Takao can respond to this, he finds himself being tugged closer --

\-- and Midorima’s lips are on his, soft and sweet and completely unexpected.

It takes him by surprise, at first, but Takao recovers and he’s sliding his hands around Midorima’s neck, trying for a better angle. Somehow, he ends up in Midorima’s lap, half-straddling his thighs while he kisses Midorima back deeply, and Midorima’s hands slip around his waist, tugging him closer as if to keep him from falling backwards.

When he pulls away to breath - he had begun to feel light-headed after a while - he looks down at Midorima, searching his face for any sign of regret or panic.

He finds none, seeing only a soft look, of something that’s resembling _fondness_ , instead.

“You have my answer,” Midorima declares bluntly, trying to sound nonchalant to Takao, but his voice is hoarse, wavering slightly, and his eyes are too bright, his breathing heavier than usual. “But you haven’t told me in your own words if you feel the same way.”

Takao’s heart begins to beat faster, hope filling his chest as he goes over Midorima’s words, and he can’t stop the smile that breaks out across his face.

“Yeah,” Takao says shyly, leaning closer. He’s gratified by the way Midorima’s hands tightened around his waist, and whispers, “Yeah, I do, Midorima.”

**Author's Note:**

> The jazz version of "Creep" by Karen Souza can be heard [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXMOxxrjdEs). Seriously, go listen to it, it's one of my favorite versions now.


End file.
